The Probability of Violet and Luke(27)

“I’m l-leaving for a week or so,” I stammer then dodge around Preston, loathing how unsteady I feel, wobbly, like I’m walking a tightrope, about to fall blindly into the unknown.

“You leave and I’m not taking you back this time!” he calls out after me, anger burning in his tone and slamming into my back. “You need me Violet Hayes! I’m all you got anymore!”

“Fuck you!” I snap venomously, turning and flipping him the bird. “I hate it here and I f*cking hate you.” Shit. Oh God. Oh shit. No.

“You ungrateful little bitch,” he seethes, storming after me, his veins bulging, more angry than I’ve ever seen him, which makes me wonder how hard he’s going to hit me if he gets close enough, but I never get to find out because Luke shoves him back again and Preston slams into the wall, stunned.

“Leave her the f*ck alone,” Luke warns as he follows me through the crowd with his fists raised. “She’s way better off not being here—she deserves better—and you’re going to let her go or else I’m going to have to make you let her go you sick son of a bitch.”

Preston gives a sharp laugh and there’s something almost psychopathic about it, so uncontrolled, so irrational. I know what’s coming before he even says it. “You think she’s better than me.” He laughs again, his voice following me as I rush toward the hall. “You want to know why I call her a whore? Ask her how she pays her debt to me and she can try to tell you that she doesn’t like it, but by the moaning I can tell that she does.”

I cover my ears and run back to the room, not wanting to see or hear Luke’s reaction to what Preston tells him next, not wanting to feel the shame on the inside. When I get to the room, I head for the closet to get my bag, but then realize that Luke may not want me to come with him, now that Preston’s let that cat out of the bag.

“Fucking douche,” I curse under my breath as I stand in the darkness of the room, unsure what to do. I want to grab a razor and slit my wrists, but am I ready to go that far?

Finally, I sit down on the floor, bring my legs to my chest, and rest my head on my knees. “Why, why, why, can’t I ever stand up to him? I’m a badass to everyone else, but to him, I’m so weak.”

“It’s not your fault.” The sound of Luke’s voice makes me stiffen. Great, he heard me in a weak moment. So weak. “He abuses his power as a parent and makes you feel helpless.”

I smash my lips together and lift my head to look up at him. He’s just a shadow in the darkness, unreadable and I shove my emotions down, wanting to be unreadable too. “Are you speaking from experience?”

“Yes,” he says simply, inching across the room toward me. “My mother abused her power a lot.”

It’s something that’s haunted me since the day I walked out of the apartment—walked away from him. Luke hated his mom, something I learned early on when I first met him. He’d told me a few vague stories about how she’s made him shoot her up with heroin. I’m sure that was barely getting to the surface of the problems that woman caused and part of me had felt bad for blaming him for something she did. It wasn’t Luke’s fault my parents are dead, but he painfully reminded me of what happened—still does.

“Maybe I shouldn’t go with you,” I say heavy-heartedly. “It probably wasn’t such a good idea in the first place… you and...” I shake the thought out of my head, because I want it too much. It’s better if I don’t go, although, I don’t really have anywhere to live anymore unless I’m willing to sacrifice my dignity and more.

He pauses, then he backs up to the light switch and flips it on. I blink against the brightness of the light as he searches my face for something—I have no idea what—then he says, “No, you’re coming with me. There’s no way I’m going to leave you here.” He glances over his shoulder at the door. “With him. It’s not healthy, the way he treats you, and looks at you.” His gaze collides with mine and a flicker of safeness rises inside me, but it only makes me ache more. “You need to stay away from him, Violet. You deserve better than that.” His lips drop to my mouth, but it happens so quickly my brain can barely register it before he’s speaking again. “Much, much better.”

I want to argue with him, not just about what he said but about how bad it is for me to go with him. Luke and I have yet to even begin to confront the major thing that tore us apart two months ago, so taking off without dealing with that seems like such an impulsive, potentially disastrous thing to do. But I’d rather deal with Luke then deal with Preston anymore. Living with him has been a nightmare and I need to breathe without feeling like my lungs are crushing me, if only for a moment. So I get up and pack my stuff, knowing that I’m only running away from my problems and avoiding the ones in front of me. And eventually I know it’s all going to crash down on me.